Moving
by Lady Masquerade
Summary: House ponders Wilson and Stacy. HW Slash. Please R and R. Thank you.


A/N: My first slash fic. Sorry if it sucks. 

Disclaimer: House M.D. isn't mine.

Please read and review. Thank you.

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Moving 

After Stacy left him, Greg House had thought he would never love again. Even if she was gone, he was still in love for months that turned into years that made him bitter with every minute. The pain of their breakup crippled his heart to match his leg, and he hated her for it, even while he loved her. Eventually, that hate spread from her to humanity in general. He usually overlooked the one exception for the sake of sounding absolute. He was the only one that needed to know about the exception anyway.

James Wilson.

His best friend had been the one enduring presence in his life from the moment they'd met. After the infarction and Stacy's departure, Wilson had remained to pick up his pieces and hold him together. It seemed to House that nothing he could do or say would rid him of James, and while he'd love to find a way to prove it wasn't impossible, he actually appreciated Wilson enough to want him around. Most of the time, anyway.

Wilson was the only reason he still had a life, he noted. Sure, he was well enough that he didn't have a death wish or loathed going to work. He ate and he enjoyed music like he used to. But those first few months, James had to make him wake up and eat and move and talk. He was the one that forced House to go back to work, the one who convinced Cuddy to give House his own department and team (even though Wilson had never actually admitted it was his doing). House owed what few things he had to James, and he knew it, though he didn't typically acknowledge it out loud.

While the infarction demolished every other aspect of his former life, it had resulted in the deepening of his friendship with Wilson. It made James dramatically more important to him. He refused to admit any dependence he might have on something or someone, but he knew in his heart that he needed Wilson. He thought Wilson knew too, though had the courtesy to leave it unmentioned.

James was a lot like a puppy, House mused. So similar, it was almost scary. Besides the eyes, the loyalty, and the sweet disposition, Wilson could get away with a whole lot and only ever get scolded. James annoyed him enough, but House didn't think he'd been pissed off with his best friend in a long time.

"Why don't you get a dog or something?" Wilson had said once, not too long ago.

"Why get a dog when I have you?" House had answered. Wilson had rolled his eyes.

For the last five years, he'd spent every birthday and Christmas with James, regardless of Wilson's marital status and religion. He had developed a hatred for parties, so their celebrations suited him just fine. With the coming and going of Wilson's second wife and arrival of the third, House found James spending more and more time on his couch, until it really seemed to be his and not House's. Often enough, House had limped groggily through the living room and kitchen in the morning twilight to have his vision clear upon a sleeping Wilson on that couch. Usually, he's throw a pillow at James or shake him awake if it was a workday. Three weeks ago, however, he'd ended up doing something out of the ordinary.

It had been a Saturday morning, and James had been sleeping on his couch again after a bad fall out with Julie. House had grumbled his way into the kitchen and fetched himself a beer from the fridge. (No, he didn't care what time of day it was.) No work, no need to wake Wilson up yet. Besides, they'd stayed up late the night before: Wilson had gotten drunk and House had listened to him go on about his marriage and his life. With luck, House had thought, Wilson would sleep through the hangover.

Instead of continuing on back to his bedroom, however, he'd stopped behind the couch unexpectedly. Wilson's face had stopped him, and he had no idea why. It had been no different than the previous times, but that morning, House had found something – beautiful about it. He'd tried to shut up his thoughts and move on, but that new feeling had refused to retreat. He had stood there, watching James sleep, and his heart had unconsciously changed rhythms to match Wilson's steady breathing.

He had hobbled around the couch to the front side and knelt painfully on his good leg, holding to his cane. Again, he'd watched silently, blue eyes unguarded and savoring Wilson's dark lashes and high cheekbones and pale serenity. The way his hair had fallen across his brow had suddenly become lovelier than Stacy had ever been. Why had he never noticed this before? James was awe striking. He had imagined those big, brown eyes full of tenderness and the smile and the laugh and the subtle tones of his figure and had blinked at his blindness. Wilson – Wilson was – He couldn't possibly describe it. Maybe it was the way James loved him that made him so desirable in his eyes, he didn't know. He loved James – he'd always loved James. But now it was different. Now, he wanted James.

And without much thought, House had leaned down slowly and kissed him – James Wilson, his best friend. He'd shut his eyes and let his lips rest on the Jew's. He smirked to himself now. James had Jewish lips, all right – strangely fertile. Seductive, like his every other quality – as he later discovered in the following weeks. But in that moment, James had shifted in his sleep, against House's lips. He had opened his eyes and House had opened his and there had been no awkward moment or scream, as House had subconsciously feared. Instead, Wilson had stared sleepily at him for a minute, before tossing his arm over House's neck and rolling over with him.

And that morning of kissing James Wilson on his couch had been the first time House realized that maybe Stacy didn't have to be the lost love of his life. Even as he had pushed his fingers into James' hair and courted James' tongue with his own, he had felt his love for the oncologist change. James hadn't complained about House's bad leg hanging over him. He'd just caressed House's face and nuzzled him and didn't bother breathing. He had been in love with House for a while – not just with sexual desires but in love with a love that matched his soul, which mirrored the platonic love he'd felt longer. It was sweet and true and unconditional.

"You're a good kisser," House had said when they'd at last come apart. James had stared at him intensely, their faces only an inch or so apart.

"Why are you doing this?" he'd said, afraid that it was only out of drunkenness.

House's blues had searched his browns before his best friend replied, "Because I realized how beautiful you are."

Wilson had smiled. They'd kissed some more. Eventually, they'd risen and went out to breakfast together at a local café. Wilson hadn't seen House smile like that in years.

"I'm leaving my wife," he'd said.

House had looked startled. "Since when?"

"Since – this morning."

"James – don't you think it's a little early to file for divorce?"

"What do you mean? I thought --"

"I want you," House had said. "And I – like kissing you. But we're not even in a relationship, and I thought you were trying to work the marriage out."

"We've been in a relationship for years, Greg. It's just different now. This is what I want – not Julie."

They'd shared a look in the breeze before House had nodded. "All right."

And the two Saturdays after that, breakfast at the café had happened again, and House had a feeling they would become regulars. Wilson had filed for divorced that first Sunday after their kiss and Julie hadn't protested much.

House hadn't thought of Stacy in three weeks – except once, where he'd mused how kissing Wilson in empty exam rooms was a lot more fun than kissing her ever had been.

And he suspected that once they got around to sex, Stacy would take second to Wilson once again.


End file.
